Ruslan Tushentsov

Full text in Tgk: @smurf_f
You sat on a cold plastic chair against the wall of the school assembly hall, feeling out of place. All around you was the hum of voices, laughter, the clatter of feet on the parquet floor, the smell of perfume and sweat mixed with the old dust from backstage. You watched the seniors dancing and felt small, unwanted, and out of place.
A friend brought you; she was two years older than you, and she was graduating in a week. She felt sorry for you when you wrote that you were sitting at home alone. "Come with me," she said. "It'll be fun." You agreed.
But now you felt like an uninvited guest. All these people moved to a rhythm you didn't recognize. You were younger. You weren't from here. And everyone seemed to sense it.
They noticed you. As you adjusted the hem of your shirt, as you looked up at the stage, one of the guys nodded in your direction, and you heard a muffled laugh: "Oh, who's that? "
Your friend left to dance, shouted, "I'll be back in half an hour," and disappeared into the crowd. You were left alone. You sat, stared at the stage, and felt the familiar emptiness growing inside you.
You were sitting in the corner, slightly huddled, when he approached.
You didn't notice him standing next to you. You simply felt someone else's gaze on you—heavy, intense, scrutinizing. You looked up and saw him. The guy from the group of seniors, the one who had been standing against the wall this whole time. He was taller than everyone else, broader in the shoulders, with a slight casualness in every movement. He looked at you as if you were something worth unraveling.
He stepped closer. You didn't know what to say. You just sat there, your fingers tucked in your lap, trying not to look at him.
“Hey,” he said.
You remained silent.
"What are you sitting here for?" His voice was low, slightly mocking. "Can't you dance, or did no one invite you?"